The man stared at the photograph.

His hands began shaking.

“No…”

Seven years earlier, doctors had told him both his wife and newborn daughter died after complications during childbirth.

He had buried two empty memories and never questioned the closed coffins.

The girl looked frightened.

“Are you my dad?”

He couldn’t answer.

Tears filled his eyes.

“Where is your mother?”

The girl pointed toward a narrow street behind her.

“She’s sick.”

He immediately started walking.

Then the girl grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait.”

He turned.

Her expression had changed.

“She said if you recognized the picture, I had to tell you something first.”

His heart pounded.

“What?”

The girl lowered her voice.

“She said you didn’t abandon us.”

The man’s face collapsed.

“She said someone made you believe we were dead.”

He stared at her.

“Who?”

The girl looked past him.

Toward a black car parked at the end of the street.

A gray-haired man sat inside, watching them.

The stranger went pale.

Because he recognized him.

The doctor who had signed both death certificates.